


Light Metering

by awildqueen



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildqueen/pseuds/awildqueen
Summary: “In Brooklyn, New York, Maven is a lonely photographer that is trying to make his first portfolio and, at the same time, trying to overcome all of his childhood traumas through it. He sees beauty in the sadness and is easily drawn to it, which can make his photos full of melancholy.One day, he meets a new guy in an empty bench, in a crowded park. He makes Maven an interesting and different offer that can change the way Maven understands life.”





	1. Ghosts

I couldn’t let today get worse than it already was, so I tried my best to get out of that cafeteria as soon as I could. It was too crowded and hot, making me feel anxious. I started making my way towards the door, trying to hold my bag, camera and cup of tea, without dropping anything.

That day started a disaster. I woke up to know that I was fired. I didn’t like my job, but it was the only way I could get money, so now I have no idea what to do. After being fired, you think nothing can make your day worse… Well, that’s a wrong way of thinking. After that little crisis because I was suddenly unemployed, I ran to my girlfriend’s house to tell her the bad news, but when I got there, she also had news for me.

“I thought about that offer Andros made to me”, she said while trying to keep an optimistic tone. “It’s gonna be a huge thing for my career and I just couldn’t let this pass me by.”

“Oh, so you accepted it already?”, I asked, keeping the most neutral expression I could. I never liked Andros, her boss, and Tirana knows that. Just a creepy guy that thinks he can treat everyone the way he wants, but when it comes about her, he is the nicest guy to ever breathe. I don’t even need to say that the guy hates me.

“Yeah, I think I did”, she said smiling. “I’m travelling to Australia next Saturday!”

I smiled at her, but I’m not sure if that smile was reflected in my eyes. I should be happy for her and proud of everything she accomplished, and I am. At least, part of me is. I know she fought hard for everything she has and I love how strong and passionate she is about things she wants. She was always the most determinated of us, the most hopeful one… I always knew she could get far, and well, she did. But the other part of me is worried about what that means to us. If she can have the whole world at the palm of her hands, why would she want to be with me? Everything I do is stay still, while she keeps walking. Always walking.

“Next Saturday?”, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t surprised. “It’s 3 days from now.”

She looked at me and suddenly, her smile went away. I knew what would happen next, but at the same time I lied to myself, saying that we could face anything… But we couldn’t. We can’t. We’ve been delaying this talk for days, even months. Both of us knew that would happen and now, with this opportunity for Tirana, a decision needs to be done. It’s a way of making this conversation finally happen, but it’s still not easy to listen.

“Yeah, I need to go as soon as I can…”, she turned away, going to the living room. She sat in the blue sofa that she always loved. I asked myself if she was going to take the sofa away when she moved to Australia. A weird thing to think about in that moment. “That’s why I feel like we need to talk.”

Her words made me anxious and I sat next to her. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the ground, but I felt that it wouldn’t be fair to her. So, I looked at her eyes and she was serious, which made me smile. I always loved her serious face. Her eyebrows get almost completely together, and she looks like an angry puppy. In that moment, I already started missing her.

“Don’t smile”, she said, trying to not join me. “You know what I’m going to say next and it’s not gonna be nice…”

“Oh, I do know what we are going to do next”, I held one of her hands and felt her skin, probably for the last time. “And it’s okay. We both knew this was gonna happen sooner or later. It’s not like our relationship was going to work that much, Ti.”

“I know…”, she said with a sad smile. “What did you brother used to say?”

When she mentioned my brother, I felt that usual pain in my chest. Every time that it happens, I feel like I can’t breathe, and everything gets darker, like the light from the room was sucked by something, or someone. I always hide that from Tirana, from everyone.

“Sometimes love is not enough”, I repeat his words, trying my best to not start crying. “But that’s bullshit. He didn’t believe in that, he was just being dramatic. Like always.”

“Oh, so drama must be a common thing between the Calores”, she teased me with a smile and playful eyes.

“I’m not as dramatic as he is”, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. She kept looking at me with a funny expression. “Anyway, he just said that because he was having a bad time with Mare, but in the end, Cal always believes in love.”

“But you don’t?”, she asked me, after some silence.

I believe love can be twisted. I know it can. People saying that they love you, while using that as some way of hurting you. Loved ones saying that they just want the best for you, but just doing the best for themselves. Choosing things for you, saying horrible things to you and then, trying to convince you it was for love. How am I supposed to know what love is about? I can’t say my experiences with it were the best ones. 

“Not always”, I answered looking at the ground. “You can say I’m the brother that is not that hopeful and romantic.”

A bitter smile appeared on my face and Tirana looked away. She got up and started pacing, nervous. I kept looking at her until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“We need to break up, Ti. And you know that.”

“I know”, she said with such a pretty conviction. “But will we be alright?”

I got up and walked towards her. Our hug seemed exactly what it was: a goodbye. And somehow, it wasn’t as difficult as I thought. Sometimes the best thing to do is to walk away. We are both pretty good at this.

“I know you don’t mean ‘we’. You want to know if I’m gonna be alright”, I said while I rested my chin on the top of her head. “And I will. I promise I will.”

She smiled, and, in that moment, I finally accepted what our relationship was always about. We both needed someone. Someone to cure our wounds and to bring a little bit of joy to our lives. I was escaping from my demons, but she was doing the same. We both needed some kind of ‘crutch’. I was hers, and she was mine. Even though we never truly loved each other as a couple, I can say that I loved her as friend. As a safe place. 

She got better, she faced most of her demons. I didn’t, but that isn’t her fault. It never was. Our relationship was good to both of us in some way, but in the end, she wants to move on, without us. So it’s only fair if I let her go now.

“I will be okay too”, she said smiling. Her eyes were wet, but she wiped it with her sweater sleeve. “I just hope you find what you are looking for.”

After leaving her house, I started thinking to myself what exactly I was looking for. I didn’t have an answer for that and I don’t know if I’ll ever have. But right now, leaving this crowded cafeteria, is not a good time to start having some deep thoughts.

I finally get out of that place and start making my way to the park. While I walk, I try not to think too much about the job I lost and the girlfriend that went away. I focus on the tea taste, trying to ignore how hot it is. The weather is something that can keep me busy too. Today isn’t raining, so I bet there are more people in the park, and it means I can possibly take some good pictures today. I hope I can because that would make my day a little bit better.

Arriving at the park, I start looking around, trying to find subjects for my photos. Sadness. Melancholy. Emptiness. That’s what I need people to show me. My photos won’t be what I need for my portfolio if I can’t find these kinds of feelings among people. That’s why this park is a great choice for me to visit and photograph. The cemetery next to it is the reason why this park has such a heavy environment. So many people die everyday and when they do it, a lot of other people mourn them, cry for them. Sometimes they even scream for their lost ones. 

I pick up my camera and start looking around, using its lens to focus. A lady passes me by, crying and holding beautiful white flowers. Her red hair is perfect, and she looks young. Too young to feel that kind of pain. Click. The flash doesn’t go off. I don’t usually use it when I take these photos. I don’t want to scare anyone or make them uncomfortable. It’s awful enough that I’m taking pictures of them while they are in pain. They don’t need to feel even worse. They don’t complain about it though. I asked the park for an authorization to take these pictures, so everyone usually knows why I am here.

“It’s for your portfolio. For you to get a job, recognition and live your life getting payment for doing the art you love.” My mind keeps repeating it endlessly, but it knows, deep down, that this isn’t the only reason why I take these pictures and it sure isn’t the reason why my photo’s theme is so sorrowful. “Just forget it, Maven. Focus on the task. Focus on the sadness.” So that’s what I do for the next five hours.

It’s funny to think about the fact that I don’t need to worry about having something to do, besides taking pictures. No job, no girlfriend, no family or even friends. So, for the first time, I could spend my whole day at this park, making something I truly like, without worrying. But I still feel that something is missing. My pictures aren’t exactly what I thought they would be. There is something in them, I’m not sure what, that makes me doubt if they are truly worthy of being in my first portfolio. I keep telling myself that I’m just too perfectionist and that I’m just thinking too much, but that strange feeling, that I’m doing something wrong, is still there.

I sit on one of the benches and start looking around, without using my camera to do that. It’s weird to see the world through the camera lens and then, without it. I feel like I need to adjust my eyes every time that happens. And the fog that starts forming in the park doesn’t help.

While I keep looking around, stretching my eyes in a way that it probably makes people ask themselves if I am okay, I see someone looking at me. A boy, but he is so surrounded by the fog that I could mistake him with a ghost. He keeps looking at me and I swear I can see a little smile appearing on his face. I can’t deny he is very handsome, looking from where I am.

We keep staring each other during some minutes and then he just starts walking away. I ask myself if he is just a new ghost that will be surrounding my mind.


	2. Exposure

Some weeks have passed and I started feeling worse. I can’t stop myself from feeling that usual numbness that I hate. I should be used with it by now, but it doesn’t matter how much time it passes, this feeling just grows inside me.

The numbness started… I actually don’t remember when it started. I feel like it was always here, that it was always part of who I am. Maybe it is. Can I somehow change this? Is there gonna be one day when I won’t feel like this? I can’t know for sure, but I can’t ignore that maybe, just maybe, there was a time in my life that I wasn’t that broken. Is keeping this in mind enough? I don’t feel like it is. Not when I’m too exhausted to fight. Not when I’m too numb to even try. When you don’t have many reasons to confront your demons, well… They keep winning. And while they do that, I keep breathing, but that doesn’t mean I’m living.

After Tirana went away, I found myself thinking about Australia a lot. I can’t deny that I feel worried of her being in a new country, alone. She is my friend, in the end of the day. And even after her call, telling me everything was okay, I still felt bad. I need to admit to myself: I’m feeling alone. She is the only friend I have left, and I knew it was going to be sad when she went away, but I wasn’t necessarily prepared for actually feeling that sadness. More sadness. It’s the only thing I’m always adding in my life.

The old lady that sits by my side in this old bench doesn’t seem happier than I am right now. Her eyes are opaque, and I can see a trace of her most recent tears. A few seconds ago, she came out of the cemetery and walked her slow way into the park. When she sat by my side, I don’t think she even saw me there. She seems too lost in her memories. Maybe the ones about who she lost.

“Excuse me, Mrs.”, I ask as smoothly as I can, but she gets a little bit jumpy anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.”

She gives me a delicate smile. It seems like her whole face is about to break. How much pain this old lady must have felt in all those years of living? This makes me think of how much more pain I’ll need to endure. In the end, I just hope I’m as strong as this woman.

“No, it’s okay, darling”, she says, and her voices sounds thick. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to accept it if you don’t want too…”, my voice almost turns into a whisper. I suddenly feel bad for asking her that, but at the same time, I can’t stop myself. “Can I take a picture of you?”

“Right now? I don’t look too good right now, do I?”, she started looking for something on her small purple handbag. “Maybe I can find some lipstick…”

“No, it’s okay”, I say, with a smile. That old lady makes me feel less upset, just by looking at her. “I need you as natural as you can be. If that’s okay.”

She stared at me for some seconds and I start feeling uncomfortable. Her narrow smile never leaves her face and her green eyes are still too dark, too painful. When she looks at me, it seems like she can also see something in me. I break eye contact with her and point one finger at my camera.

“It’s gonna be super quick”, I say, still not looking at her. “I just need you to think about…”

“Who I lost?”, her smile goes away and she keeps staring at me.

I wonder how she knows that. Maybe my expression is enough for her to find out. Maybe what she saw deep inside my eyes was enough. I start feeling nervous and I hope I didn’t piss her off somehow. But then she just nods slowly and points at my camera.

“Okay then, darling”, she looks ahead, to a tree that is not far from us. The orange leaves falling from the tree are dramatic and vibrant, and I appreciate having this as some background for most of my pictures. But then I realize she isn’t looking at that tree. Her eyes are focused in it, but her mind isn’t. Her thoughts are far away, which is exactly what I need.

Click. My camera registers the moment, that lady in that old bench, suffering for someone I won’t ever know. Her pain can be easily seen in the picture. It’s perfect for my portfolio.

“Thank you so much”, I sincerely say. She just smiles at me and stands up.

“You’re welcome”, she starts walking away, getting as far as she can from the cemetery. I keep looking at her until she disappears, just to be replaced by more and more people coming and going in the park. I just sit there, in the same bench I always did during all those weeks.

I like sitting here. It’s an old and beautiful black bench, made of steel. It’s delicate and resistant, and I like that. At the same time, this bench is the perfect spot to take my pictures and find my next subjects when I get tired of walking and standing all day. Besides, almost no one sits here with me, which is perfect. Isn’t it funny that I feel alone for not having any friends, but at the same time, I just keep myself away from everyone? What is so very wrong with me?

Unfortunately, I can’t think of an answer for those questions because in that second, someone sits by my side. In this bench. Okay… Maybe I was wrong about how many people actually sit in this spot. Shit.

I try to be discreet and give that person a side eye, but I surprise myself when I realize that his person is that guy. The guy I saw in the same day Tirana and I broke up. In that circumstance, I asked myself if he was a ghost, but right now, he doesn’t seem like one. He is real, and he is looking directly at me.

“I could finally come and find you”, his voice sounds soft and calm. “I was so busy these past weeks and I was asking myself if you would be here again. I’m glad you are.”

He smiles at me and I look away, staring at the camera resting in my lap. His smile is beautiful and somehow, it makes me feel a little bit shaky. My first instinct is to run away, but my stubbornness is stronger. Like always.

“Hum… You are that guy that was staring at me, right?”, my voice cracks and I clean my throat, still staring at my lap. My hands look too pale against my black pants.

“Oh you stared me back!”, he says, smiling. “But anyway, I’m Thomas.”

“Maven.” My eyes return to his face and I see that he is still looking at me. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable and I can’t explain exactly why. I decide to say my name just because he did the same, but as soon as I say that I start feeling more anxious.

“It’s amazing to meet you, Maven”, I like the way he says my name, not that I’ll say that out loud. “I saw you that day, you know? I came to the cemetery and then passed through this park and well, there you were. Taking pictures for hours… And I was curious.”

“Curious?”, I ask him quickly. Even though he is not making me uncomfortable, which is something new when it comes about strangers and me, I still can’t trust him, and I don’t know if I want to keep talking to him exactly, but for some reason, I keep going with this conversation.

“Yes, I’m a curious guy”, he winks one of his eyes and his smile gets bigger. “Anyway, I just saw that you seem really passionate about what you do and that you take a lot of pictures of sad people.”

I can’t stop raising one of my eyebrows. Okay, now I’m uncomfortable.

“Oh so you kind of stared at me for hours…”, I start putting my camera in my bag slowly, and I try to focus my eyes in that small task. “That isn’t weird at all.”

My sarcasm gets to him and he stops smiling. I see, in the corner of my eye, that he is starting to blush. Good. At least I’m not the only one feeling uncomfortable now.

“I’m so sorry. That’s not I meant.” I guess his apology sounds sincere, even though I’m still feeling suspicious about this guy. But I still decide to look at him again. “I forget that not everyone is used to me and my behavior. A lot of people would feel uncomfortable with a random person staring at them, right?”

I slowly nod, and his smile comes back, but it’s sadder, like somehow, he finally saw how the whole staring thing made me feel paranoid. I don’t like being that paranoid, but I can’t help myself. Having the childhood I had… Well, it doesn’t make you capable of trusting people that much.

“I just…”, it looks like he is trying to find the right words. “I just really like people?! Does that make sense?”

“I don’t know”, my confusion is genuine, and my face probably shows it, because he looks at me and smile, having fun.

“Well, I do. I do like people and I think they are interesting”, his brown eyes travel through the whole park and stop in one small kid, learning how to ride a bicycle. His smile gets even brighter. “So, when I saw you taking those pictures and how you seem so passionate about it… I thought it was beautiful and… compelling.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing a little bit, which surprises him. It seems like my laugh has some kind of effect on him, but I don’t know exactly which one.

“Okay, you are weird.”

He stares at me for some seconds, keeping his smile on his face the whole time. When he finally looks away, I’m the one that feels weird.

“Maybe I am”, he laughs and that makes me smile a little bit. “Actually, I’m truly weird, but that’s not something bad, is it?”

“I don’t think so”, I look around the park and spot that kid again. Her bike is yellow and vibrant, just like her. I always saw her around, with her parents, but never payed too much attention to them.

“Well, I think weird is nice”, he shrugs. “As much as being curious… Like, why do you keep taking pictures of sad people? That’s something I’m curious about and now that I asked, maybe I’ll get an answer and finally silence my mind about that.”

“But maybe you won’t get an answer…”, I say while shrugging. His eyes get brighter and his smile becomes different, like we are playing some kind of game.

“I’m the glass half full kind of guy”. He flips a few strands of his dark brown hair back in place and looks directly in my eyes. I don’t know why but this time I don’t look away immediately.

“And I’m the glass half empty guy”, I say with a modulated tone of voice. I don’t have any trouble in admitting that. I know how of a pessimistic I can be, and Thomas doesn’t look like the same kind of guy. Good for him.

“That’s why you take pictures of people suffering?”, he asks me again.

He is truly interested in my photography, which is great, I guess. If someone keeps themselves interested only in my pictures, it’s easier for me to focus on talking to them. No personal conversations, just the photography.

“I’m making my first portfolio. And I decided I want to make one about melancholy, suffering, sadness… All those kinds of things.”

His expression shows that he understands me. Partly.

“Oh I see…”, his smile is still on his face, but his eyes look thoughtful. “Is there are a reason why you chose this theme?”

I look away again, running from his eyes, running from his questions. I know I could just get up and go away, leave him here, in this old bench. But part of me is also curious to know why this guy keeps talking to me. I also don’t want to seem scared or something like that in front of him. I don’t know why exactly. So, I try to keep my cool, as much as I can.

“Personal reasons”, I say with a definitive tone, ending this part of the conversation. Thomas gets the hint, just nodding and raising his hands, giving up. I’m glad he does.

“Okay. We don’t need to talk about that, because I have an offer to you”, his light brown skin looks warm in contrast with the cold weather. And it’s funny to think that his brown eyes seem even warmer.

“An offer?”, I can’t stop a smirk of appearing on my face. “You don’t even know me that much, Thomas.”

His name is weird coming out of my mouth. I feel like I don’t pronounce someone’s name in years. I certainly don’t have a long conversation like this with someone since Tirana and I broke up.

“Let’s just say I’ll trust you with that”, his grin looks genuine. I realized that, during this whole conversation I didn’t see him having trouble to truly smile and laugh. This guy is really weird.

“Okay, so what’s the offer?”, I ask, still suspicious.

The corners of his eyes crinkles, and his smile becomes sweeter. I feel something different in my stomach. Is this fear? Adrenaline? Or something else? I don’t know, but I know that, for the first time ever, I won’t let this stop me.


	3. Color Correction

Finding the building where Thomas lives wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would. He gave me clear instructions on how to find it, and the building had a whole side covered by a colorful mural, that was painted in tones of turquoise and green. I could also see glimpses of red and orange, here and there. So well, it would be impossible for someone not to find it. I guess the most complicated part of everything was when I needed to convince myself to come.  
  
One week has passed since Thomas made me that offer, and I still feel anxious about it. I don’t even know exactly why. “It’s just a job, Maven. Just like all the other ones.” That’s the thing that I keep saying to myself when I think about pressing the intercom button. But before doing that, I need to take a picture of that mural. The colors of it make me feel good and I can’t not help but smile. The woman in the painting looks directly at me and her eyes seem to be wise and full of secrets. Click. Now those secrets are also kept in my camera.  
  
I stop in front of the intercom and press the button. Apartment 302, that’s what Thomas said. I wait a few seconds and my anxiety is almost making me faint when I hear a voice in the other side.  
  
“Hello?”, Thomas says between a laugh and a cough. I hear another voice in the background, but I can’t understand what it is saying.  
  
“Hey, it’s me, Maven”, my voice cracks a little bit and I clean my throat. “I’m here for, you know, the offer.”  
  
“Oh, so you decided to accept it?”, he doesn’t wait for me to answer. “That’s fantastic! Come in and we can start that already.”  
  
The intercom goes off and I sigh. Thomas sounds so vivacious, I wonder how he manages to be like that. In the day he made me that offer, he sounded so weightless. He had an “aura” of joy, acting like everything was beautiful and fascinating. “Is he always like that?”. I don’t know the answer for this question. At least, not yet.  
When I enter the building, the air feels fresh and I can smell a scent of flowers. Lavender. It reminds me of Tirana and her perfume. Missing her is something that I’ll need to get used to. She is living a new life and it doesn’t mean we aren’t friends anymore. And it’s not her fault the fact that she is my only friend. The scent follows me in the elevator.  
  
When the door closes, I start drumming my fingers in my leg. I don’t know what to expect from this new job. I know what Thomas wants me to do, but it still confuses me a little bit. I just accepted it because he seems like an easy person to work with and because of the money. He will pay me nicely and I need this. I really need this.  
The corridor to Thomas apartment is colorful. There are five doors and they all have different colors and patterns. One of them is red and I notice it’s Thomas’s door. 302. I knock, suddenly feeling weird about all the colors around me. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but it’s so different that it makes me kind of dizzy.  
  
I hear voices behind the door, Thomas’s and someone’s else, a girl. The stranger gets closer to the door and I take a deep breath. When the door opens I need to look down. A girl, with vibrant blue hair stares at me, tilting her head a little bit. I wonder how old she is.  
  
“You must be Maven, right?”, her voice sounds adorable, and it reminds me of a child’s.  
  
“Yeah, it’s me.”  
  
She smiles and lets me pass. When I step inside Thomas’s apartment, I need to give myself some minutes to understand what is going on. It’s a mess, but somehow, it works, and it doesn’t seem unclean. It looks more like a child’s room, a child that loves to paint.  
  
His living room, or where it was supposed to be, is full of painting easels, and there are brushes and wood palettes all over the place. I can clearly see ink stains in his white sofa. Blue, yellow and even red, they all make a weird and lovely pattern in that couch. I wonder why he bought a white sofa if he probably knew that it would get stains. I see a book over it and I notice piles of books around the whole place, on the floor and even next to the television.  
  
The air that surrounds me is warm, but not too much, and it smells woody, reminding me of sandalwood, which I love. The windows are wide open, and I can see the dark blue curtains moving with the calm wind, in contrast with the light grey walls. There are also big flowerpots around the room, with beautiful and vibrant plants. I can also see his dining table from where I stand, and there is a lovely and small flowerpot with a sunflower, over it. And of course, more painting stuff are there too, alongside some books.  
  
Thomas is in front of a painting easel, staring at it. He sees me and smiles. I notice blue ink in his forehead, hands and in his clothes. His dark brown hair is messy, but he doesn’t seem to care. When he comes next to me, I can see some brushes on his jeans pockets.  
  
“I’m glad you decided to accept my offer”, he offers me his hands and I shake it. His skin feels warm, in contrast with my cold hands. “You already met Ella, right?”  
My eyes follow his and I look at the girl with blue hair. I give her a small smile, and in return, she just smiles bigger. I can see two piercings, one in her eyebrows and the other one in the middle of her bottom lip.  
  
“You are so cute”, she says, staring at me. “I think Thomas chose the right photographer.”  
  
“The right photographer?”, I ask, trying to not let my voice crack. I hope I’m not blushing either, but my face gets so hot that I know that I failed. “I didn’t know it was such a serious thing.”  
  
They both laugh, and Thomas eyes flicker a little bit. I get the strange feeling that the color of his eyes changed, but it must be just an impression. It’s still brown, but different. I just can’t stare him too much, anyway, otherwise my anxiety will suffocate me.  
  
“Well, it’s not a serious thing… It’s just my life, I guess”, he says with a soft voice. I still hear Ella giggling a little bit behind us.  
  
I just smile to him and shrug. I try my best to not flinch while I do that. Shrugging can bring back some bad memories, so I try to keep them in the farthest place of my mind. Ignoring the flashbacks of my mother’s voice can be hard, but I’m getting better with time. I can only hope I am.  
  
“Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone”, Ella says, grabbing a big, orange bag pack from the couch. “See you later, Thomas”, she smiles at me. “And hope to see you around, Maven.”  
  
“Bye”, I wave at her, awkwardly. Now I know for sure that I’m blushing. Thomas notices that and grins.  
  
“Don’t mind her”, he goes towards the sofa and sits down. “She is just messing with you. She does that a lot.”  
  
“It’s okay,” I surprise myself when I realize I mean that. I decide to sit in a armchair, a little bit far from him. “Is she your sister or what?”  
  
“Oh no, she is just a friend. One of my best friends”, his eyes get lost a little bit and I wonder what he is thinking about, what he is remembering. “We know each other since we were kids.”  
  
I slowly nod and some memories of the friends I had when I was a kid pass through my mind. They weren’t many, and I have no idea where they are right now. I try to stop thinking about that, and my eyes focus on the painting he was working on when I arrived.  
  
It leaves me speechless. The painting is not even done yet, but it’s beautiful. A young woman, in the cemetery. She is in front of a grave and holding delicate white flowers. Her dark green eyes seem deep and there are tears coming down her rosy cheeks. I can’t hide my surprise when I see her perfect red hair and recognize her. “Too young to feel that kind of pain.”  
  
“I saw her before”, I say while getting up and walking towards the painting. “I took a picture of her in the day Tirana and I broke up.”  
  
The words come out of my mouth before I can stop myself, but I don’t care. I keep looking at her and I can’t help but wanting to touch the portrait, but I don’t do it. I just keep looking at her and thinking about how much pain she was feeling. I can see if in her eyes, even through the painting.  
  
“Her name is Elane”, Thomas gets out of the sofa and stands next to me, looking at his work. “I asked her if I could paint her and she said yes and then smiled”.  
Thomas smiles with the remembrance.  
  
“She was so kind,” his eyes get sadder and he looks down. “She lost her sister, Mariella. That’s the grave she was visiting that day.”  
  
I look at him and then my eyes focus on the painting again. I keep looking at it for some minutes, but then Thomas cleans his throat. I jump a little bit, surprised.  
  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you”, his smile gets gentler. “I just really need to finish this painting.”  
  
“Oh of course. Sorry!”  
  
I get out of his way, not sure of what I should do. I go to my bag and grab my camera. After adjusting it, I go next to Thomas’s easel and starts taking pictures of him painting. He smiles even more, but his eyes are totally focused on the paint.  
  
“That’s what you want, right?”, I say, looking at him through my camera lens. “To take pictures of your day to day? Of you doing normal stuff through your days?”  
  
“Exactly!”, his voice sounds confident, with that usual tone of cheerfulness. “I want you to document my life and everything I do or even go through. Of course you don’t need to follow me around every day, but like I said before, I will pay for you to spend at least three days a week with me and take pictures of it. Not only of me, but about whatever happens and whoever is with me.”  
  
“That sounds simple enough,” I say, while taking more pictures of him and everything around him.  
  
I can easily say that Thomas’s house is a nice place to take pictures. Great lighting and it’s so colorful and full of life that it’s easy to find something to take a picture of. Even taking pictures of Thomas is easy. He is a natural model, looking natural and interesting in every photo. Maybe it’s because he really doesn’t care that I’m taking pictures of him and keeps doing his thing, no matter what. But I can’t deny how different this is. I don’t take pictures like this, bright, happy and vivid, in months. I’ll need to get used to it and learn how to keep a balance between this job with Thomas and my pictured for my portfolio. Both are really different, and I need to make them both happen.  
  
“Don’t you wanna know why?”, his voice draws me from my thoughts.  
  
I keep quiet for some seconds. It would be easier to say that I don’t need to know, and it’s the truth. Besides I don’t need more social interaction because well, my anxiety is in the corner of my mind, not leaving me alone since I arrived here. Or I could say I don’t want to know, but that would be a lie.  
  
“Hum... Do you want to tell me?”, I try to keep myself focused on my camera, but my ears are ready to listen to his explanation.  
  
He just smiles and shrugs.  
  
“Well, it was my father’s wish, you know? Having pictures of his life”, he keeps painting, but I see that his mind is somewhere else. “So I guess this dream passed to me. I always wanted to have pictures of my life for one day, maybe, be able to look back at it and remember what a great life I had. Simple as that.”  
  
“That makes sense,” I say while nodding. “I’m glad you didn’t say something like “I’m gonna die soon, that’s why I want to document the rest of my days” or something like that. I was starting to think this would be a tragedy.”  
  
I see his smile getting bigger through my camera lens.  
  
“Oh I could have said that”, he laughs and looks at me. “I lost my opportunity of sounding way more interesting than I am.”  
  
I can’t help but smile. He goes back to painting and I try my best to not disturb him, while taking more pictures. After some time, I get tired and just sit on the couch, watching him paint for some time. The way his brush passes through the canvas, so softly, is hypnotizing and I wonder how he knows exactly where to put a certain color or how he knows how to make it all work. I could never paint, so that’s always gonna be a mystery to me.  
  
After at least one hour, he stops and move away from the painting. He stares it for some minutes and then just shrugs.  
  
“Well, that’s it, I guess”, his smile is weak, and he sounds tired. He looks at me and suddenly blushes. “Oh Maven, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even offer you something to eat or even drink.”  
  
“No, it’s okay.”  
  
“No, of course it’s not. I get so lost while I’m painting… Ella uses to say I don’t care about anything else when I’m painting, and I guess she is right. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Thomas, it’s okay,” I don’t even need to try to sound true, because well, it’s the truth. “I’m really fine. Actually it was really nice seeing you paint like this. You are really talented.”  
  
“Do you think so?”, his smile gets bigger and more genuine.  
  
“Yeah, I do”, my voice gets lower when I finally realize something. “Wait, are you the person that painted the mural in the side of this building?”  
  
“Yes, it was me”, he starts walking towards a door, probably to the kitchen. I follow him. “How did you notice?”  
  
His kitchen is amazing and bright, but simple. Of course, there are clear remaining ink stains in some of the plastic pots that are over the counters. A beautiful painting of a flower field is hanging in the wall and I already know it’s Thomas’s work.  
  
“I guess it reminds me of you”, he looks at me and I blush. “I mean, it reminds me of your painting style and the colors you usually use.”  
  
I point at the painting in the wall. He follows my finger and smiles.  
  
“I’m glad I have a recognizable style then”, he turns around and grabs something from the refrigerator. “Do you prefer cake or pie?”  
  
“Pie. Always.” I smile back at him, but suddenly I feel the urge to look down. I don’t even know why. My heart starts beating faster, like it always does when I exchange more than three phrases with someone. What is so wrong with me?  
  
He smiles and grabs the pie, and two plates and forks. We sit in some benches next to one of the counters.  
  
“Have you ever tried to paint?”, he asks directly, but his voice sounds soft, like he trying to not push too much. I wonder if he notices how anxious I got some seconds ago.  
  
“I tried, when I was 14, 15”, I say while putting a shameful amount of pie inside my mouth. “Let’s say I failed… Really hard.”  
  
He laughs. “Oh I wish I could see that,” his expression gets funny. “Why don’t you try to paint something then?”  
  
I choke a little bit. “Right now?”, I say between some coughs. “No way.”  
  
“Why not?”, he says, and his tone gets playful. “C’mon. At least a little bit?”  
  
I don’t know exactly why, but I feel the same feeling that I felt when I accepted his offer. The fear and anxiety are not bigger than the feeling of actually proving to myself that I can do this. If I can spend a whole day in a stranger’s house and have full conversations with him, I can try to paint something.  
  
“Okay”, I say while standing up. “I can do this.”  
  
He smiles, and we get back to the living room. He puts a blank canvas in the easel. And points at it, while looking at me. I feel excited and anxious, at the same time.  
  
“I just need to warn you that I’ll probably screw this beautiful blank canvas”, I smile at him.  
  
“Do your best”, he sustains my smile. “It’s gonna be enough. Just close your eyes and think about something. Then… Well, paint it.”  
  
“Easy for you to say.”  
  
He just shrugs and sits down in the while couch. I close my eyes for some seconds, trying to think about something and ignore the fact that Thomas is probably waiting. When I open my eyes, he is reading a magazine, and I realize he is trying to make me comfortable, not staring at me. Great. It works.  
  
“Can I take your camera?”, he suddenly asks me.  
  
“Oh yeah, of course. It’s on my bag.”  
  
He gets up and searches for my camera. He grabs it and smile.  
  
“Don’t worry. I just want to see the pictures you took of me today”, he says, tranquilizing me with his gentle voice. “But you know, I was thinking… We should make a deal.”  
  
“A deal?”  
  
“That’s right”, he takes the camera and slowly points at me. He doesn’t take a picture, but I feel like he wants to. “Whenever you come to take pictures of me, I’ll take the camera for some minutes and take one picture of you. What do you say?”  
  
“One picture?”, I say, smiling. I don’t know why but the idea doesn’t make me that anxious right now. “Why?”  
  
“Why not? I can practice my photographer skills,” he smiles and shrugs, focusing the lens on me and then around the living room. “But you can’t delete the photos I take of you.”  
  
“Okay then”, I hear myself saying. “It’s a deal.”  
  
I turn my head and focus on the canvas in front of me. I close my eyes, but I have no idea what to paint. My mind suddenly gets loud and my anxiety starts to try getting the best out of me. I take a deep breath, dip my brush in a greyish ink and starts painting. After some minutes, I open up my eyes and stare at the thing in front me. Not a thing, I guess. My painting.  
  
I stays quiet for some time, trying to understand what I see in front of me. It doesn’t look bad, but it looks a mess. I painted what I was feeling and well, it really looks like that: a dark and intense mess. I suddenly feel Thomas behind me. I turn back, and he is looking at my painting.  
  
“Like I said, I fail at painting”, I say, almost a whisper. I get away from the easel and start putting my camera in my bag again.  
  
“I don’t think you failed”, his voice sounds sincere and I can’t help but look at him. “It’s beautiful and fascinating.”  
  
I just shake my head, in disbelief. “C’mon, it’s a mess.”  
  
“It is, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t pretty.”  
  
I look at him again and he just smiles at me. He focusses his eyes on my painting again and stays there, looking at it. I wonder what he sees in there and what he likes so much about it.


End file.
